I Know Places
by stydiawrites
Summary: They're just teenagers - teenagers on the run from someone intent on murdering every last member of the McCall Pack. Kira, Malia, Liam - and now Scott. They're all dead, taken down by the one killer they can't seem to beat. Stiles and Lydia, the only two pack members left, flee Beacon Hills in hopes of saving their families - and themselves.
1. out here in plain sight

**_you stand with your hand on my waistline  
_** ** _it's a scene and we're out here in plain sight  
_** ** _i can hear them whisper as we pass by  
_** ** _it's a bad sign, bad sign_**

After three months of living this nightmare, Lydia doesn't know how she's still standing. She isn't, though - not really. Stiles has a careful hand wrapped around her waist, keeping her pressed to his side as they watch the casket lower into the ground. She can't even cry, no matter how badly this hurts. At this point, she's all cried out.

It's Stiles who feels the shift in the air. He tenses next to her, pulling Lydia from the thick fog she's let herself slip under.

"He's here," Stiles whispers, his voice low. His fingers press harder into her side and she winces, following his gaze. There, in the shadows, lingers a face they can't seem to shake, no matter how hard they try.

"It's time, Lydia. We have to go."

Lydia looks up at him with wide, grave eyes. He's right. They have to run, and yet the empty, hollow feeling in her chest says there's no point. Scott, Kira, the others - they're _all_ dead. What makes Lydia, the banshee, and Stiles, the human, think they can outrun a cold blooded killer?

"I don't have any of my - "

"We don't have time," Stiles cuts her off, his voice firm. How is he holding it together? How does he have the capability of being strong? "You don't need your things, Lydia. We need to **go**. If I can save you - if I can save _us,_ I have to try. Okay? I have to try."

There's something about the conviction in his voice that sparks a light inside her. It's a small flame, flickering and in danger of being snuffed out at any moment, but it's a flame nonetheless. This is a long shot, and she knows chances are they won't survive, but they have to try.

A glance in Sheriff Stilinski and Melissa McCall's direction confirms it. At the very least, they can lead the killer away from their families, from the people left to mourn the lives of children taken far, far too soon.

"Okay," she whispers, turning her wide gaze back onto Stiles. "We leave tonight."


	2. everybody finds out

_something happens when everybody finds out_  
 _see the vultures circling dark clouds_  
 _love's a fragile little flame, it could burn out_  
 _it could burn out_

It started with the Nogitsune.

When the Nogitsune claimed two lives from their pack, word spread. In a matter of months, the town was filled with supernatural beings seeking to end the lives of every member of the McCall pack.

First, it was Kira, who was taken in the middle of the night and never heard from again. Then, it was Derek, who - judging from the scene in his apartment - went out with a fight, just as everyone knew he would. One by one, the pack was picked off, until only Scott, Lydia, and Stiles remained.

Then, they got Scott.

* * *

A/N: I have decided to continue this story, despite how long it has taken me to update. Obviously this is super short, but it's setting up the next chapter, which focuses on Scott being taken. Stick with me while I set up the plot, okay? ;) Find me on tumblr at notwithoutlydia!


	3. they are the hunters

_cause they got the cages, they got the boxes and guns  
they are the hunters, we are the foxes and we run_

It was Scott's idea to run.

The pack had fought, and fought valiantly. They did everything they could to save themselves, but it wasn't working. They were outnumbered and no amount of Deaton's advice or training could prepare them for the beings they faced. Hundreds were after them, and the only solution any of them could find was to run.

* * *

It was supposed to be the three of them - Stiles, Lydia, and Scott. Though nearly consumed by grief and beaten-down by the sheer magnitude of their loss, they thought they could make it. If they just hopped in the jeep and headed north; if they drove until they ran out of road. Scott would be able to sense creatures on their trail, and Lydia would know if death was closing in. It _should_ have been a perfect plan.

But then **it** happened.

* * *

She never saw it coming.

Lydia, the banshee. She should have seen it. She should have known. But she was _distracted_ by the need to throw things into a suitcase; **broken** by a grief so all-consuming she couldn't breathe. She was caught up in saying goodbye to Prada and making excuses to her mother and -

The scream ripped from her throat out of _nowhere_. It shattered the night sky and sliced through the broken remains of her heart. Stiles didn't need **super senses** to hear her, and he certainly didn't need **visual confirmation** to know whose life had been ripped from his desperate and pleading grasp.

His best friend. His brother.

 _ **Scott**_.


End file.
